“She’s cooling off,” Caroline said, propping her elbow against the door trim.

“She threw a fit over dessert forks before Mom had even finished laying out the napkins.”

“She’s six years old,” I said, stepping closer to the pantry latch.

“She put her hands on three clean forks on the sideboard,” Caroline said.

She checked her dark red nails, then sighed into her wineglass.

“Mom gave her a simple time-out so the rest of us could sit down like civilized adults.”

Margaret came down the hallway behind Caroline, rubbing the hem of her linen napkin over and over between her thumbs.